


Guilty of Dreaming

by thequidditchpitch_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Erotica, Explicit Sexual Content, Frottage, Masturbation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Second War with Voldemort, The Quidditch Pitch: More Than Two, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-07-18
Updated: 2009-07-18
Packaged: 2018-10-27 16:36:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10812798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thequidditchpitch_archivist/pseuds/thequidditchpitch_archivist
Summary: Seamus can't control his dreams anymore than the average person can, so it's really not his fault if he's dreaming about things that he probably shouldn't be... right?





	Guilty of Dreaming

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).

         Seamus awakens, his sleep disturbed by a moan, soft and slight. It's not a moan that he had heard before; not his own, and not the grunts and sighs that his roommates occasionally let slip while wanking. 

        This moan is decidedly different, and decidedly feminine.

         _Bloody hell_ , thinks Seamus. _Someone has a girl in the room?_

         The moan comes again, louder, more heated. He sits up in bed, listening intently. As he moves closer to his curtain, the moan becomes a mutter, and he is able to pick out clear words.

         “Oh gods… oh yes… right there! Bloody brilliant… so bloody brilliant… yes!”

         Seamus knows that voice. Seamus knows that voice all too well. How many times has he imagined that voice sayings things just like that to him? How many times has he imagined the owner of that voice doing various dirty deeds, longed for it to be not his hand wrapped and pumping around his cock, but her lips? How many times has he imagined how warm, how wet, how inviting she would be, mewling under him, soft thighs wrapped around his hips, delicate calves pressing into his back? How may times has he bitten into his lip to keep from crying out her name when his orgasm hits, tasting his own blood and wishing to taste the soft surface of her tongue instead?

         Seamus knows the answer to all of these questions, because it is a simple enough equation to solve. For the past two years, he cannot think of more than a week that has passed in which he has not stroked himself to dreams of this girl.

         As the moans continue, he finds his curiosity hard to contain and slowly, carefully pulls back the curtains. He peers out, and gasps at the knowledge of confirmation. He can see everything, and there is no longer any doubt. It’s her.

         Luna.

         Luna is beautiful, she is carefree, she is naked, flushed… She is fucking his best friend.

         Seamus is too fascinated to be hurt. After all, it’s not as if either Luna or Dean knew how he felt. Seamus is a very private person, and has always prided himself on his ability to keep his secrets intact. Apparently, Luna and Dean do not share his convictions. If they did, they would have shut the curtains more than halfway. As it is, Seamus has quite the clear view of what is happening.

         He has to admit that they look good together. Against Dean’s creamy mahogany skin, Luna looks paper white and bone china delicate. They look like vanilla and chocolate ice cream, melting into one another in summer heat.  This, Seamus is surprised to find himself thinking, is one sundae that he would not mind eating.

         They are gorgeous, he concludes. Both of them. Seamus cannot believe how natural they seem – Dean, clad only in boxers, is pressed on top of Luna, lips against the alabaster skin of her collarbone, one hand by her head and the other softly kneading her left breast. As he watches the movement of Dean’s fingers and palm, Luna lets out a shivering sigh and raises one calf to drape it over Dean’s back, causing their crotches to make firmer contact and forcing Dean to let out a ragged moan. He grinds his hips against her in a frenzy, and then sits up suddenly, leaning over at the waist to smother her lips with his own and sliding the hand that was on her breast down across her stomach. He slips it slowly, slowly down into the warm, wet junction between Luna’s thighs, and Seamus thinks that he has never seen either of them look more intense. Luna cries out, a keening rush of air that raises the hair on the back of Seamus’ neck. He cannot pull his eyes away as Luna shifts so that she can reciprocate, swooping into the pale blue boxers to tug gently but insistently on Dean’s cock and making the boy swear under his breath. 

         Dean’s eyes lock onto Luna’s and she smiles, slipping her hand out of his boxers as he slides his fingers out of her heat. He slips the cloth down over his hips and she parts her legs, and it seems to Seamus that there is barely a second’s pause before Dean has slid into her. Dean begins to thrust, slow and deliberate, and Luna begins to shift her hips and let out pants of warm air each time he pushes back into her.

         Seamus knows he shouldn’t be watching, and yet he cannot help it. He also knows that he shouldn’t be getting off on this, but that too is out of his control. His erection is pressing very firmly into the flannel of his pyjamas, practically aching to be touched. Pushing morals to the back of his mind, Seamus gives into base instinct and allows himself to reach into his pants to palm his cock. He begins to slowly stroke as he takes in more details of the nearly intoxicating scene playing out before his eyes.

         Luna is even more brilliant than he ever could have imagined, even in his raunchiest fantasies. She does not possess a perfect, classic beauty, but that only seems to make him want her more. She is petite, much smaller than Dean, and yet she looks incredibly at ease with her much taller partner. She is curvy, and Seamus loves her curves – her thighs look soft to the touch, her calves dip out just right, her ass would make the perfect handful, and her breasts seem to swell to the exact size of Seamus’ liking. He imagines running his mouth along her sides, not overly enhanced with muscle like Ginny or Cho, but tapered and gentle. Her waves of blonde hair are everywhere, tossed around with every push of Dean’s pelvis, and it looks wild and crazy, just like her. She is incredible.

         And then there is Dean. Dean is purely majestic. He is all firm muscle and long lines, his skin is shiny with exertion and his short black hair looks pillow soft. He looks like a king, or a leader – he knows exactly what he is doing, each movement is planned and calculated. His eyes seem to be lit with more passion than Seamus has ever seen them filled with, and Seamus knows that Dean has been through a lot. Dean might be his best friend, but Seamus cannot help thinking of him in a totally different way here. He is elegant.

         As Seamus watches, Dean begins to increase the speed of his rhythmic thrusting. He pumps into her faster and harder, until Luna is breathing so hard Seamus thinks she will run out of air. Their orgasms seem to hit within seconds of each other; first, Dean tenses up, each muscle in his back coming into detail, and opens his mouth to let out a long string of expletives muttered too fast for Seamus to sort them out. While he is in the midst of this, Luna’s shoulders jerk up off of the bed and her eyes go wide, and then she is practically screaming Dean’s name over and over again as her legs close around his hips.

         Seamus has no idea how the other boys have not been awakened by the outburst, but at the same time, he could care less, because his own release has surged up with an intensity that he can barely believe. He can’t remember the last time he came this hard; the pleasure is so tense and direct that he finds it impossible to keep his eyes open and his mouth shut any longer. He lets himself ride it out fully, flopping back onto his bed when he is spent. His head is reeling, and all he wants is to be able to rest and process all of this, but he can’t because someone is yelling at him to “get his lazy Irish ass out of bed”, and then is waking up for real and realizing just how sticky his pants are.

         He wonders if he’ll ever have a dream that good again.

         He kind of doubts it.


End file.
